Tuesday, March 17, 2015

My Dead Brother's 40th Birthday


brosis
Image: Getty Images
Aw. A brother and sister holding hands by the beach. Isn't that adorable?
It was never like that picture with you and me, Bro. 

We didn't have the kind of brother-sister relationship you see on TV. We didn't borrow our script from the Brady Bunch or Eight is Enough or Family Ties or The Waltons. I've never seen our kind of sibling relationship depicted on any screen, big or small.
You, eighteen months younger than I, nevertheless were the dominant one, from the moment you arrived. And you dominated the hell out of me.
You started physically overpowering me early. Like, say, when I was 5 and you were 3. You--Mom and Dad's strong, tough, sinewy, athletic biological offspring--were impervious to pain, just like them, and I was...the opposite. 
Games of tag? You chased and caught me. You wrestled me to the ground and made me beg for mercy. You punched me, right in that bony spot on the upper arm where the tricep ends, where it hurts most. You picked me up and threw me down on the ground. And you laughed.
I spent most of my childhood sporting bruises you'd given me.
I could never compete with you physically, and I learned early to stop trying. (In a lot of ways, Bro, I blame you for the way I react to threats of all kinds...crumpling into a ball, trying to protect myself as best I can from the inevitable beatdown; resisting only makes it worse. Fighting back? Madness. Prolongs the pain. Give up. Get it over with. It'll eventually end.)
Later, when we were older, taking a cue from Dad, you added verbal abuse to your roster. At first it was sort of amusing hearing those words coming from a ten-year-old. By the time you were fifteen, though, and broody and dark and perpetually angry and still inclined to lash out physically as well, it wasn't cute anymore. It was scary.
You were scary.
I was afraid of you, Bro.

When Mom left town and you moved in with Dad and me, I did my best to steer clear of you and your raging, seething, adolescent anger. You and your friends did your thing. I and my friends did my thing. We went to the same High School, but we didn't hang out with the same kinds of people.
You and your friends were C-minus students who focused your energies around the cars and motorcycles you were going to own someday.  I belonged to Theatre and Speech Team and Honor Society and Future Farmers of America; you belonged to...well, nothing that I can recall, other than German Club, and that was only because you kind of had to join if you were taking the language.
You and your friends called me and my friends "Losers" and "Fags."
Turns out a few of us actually were. "Fags," I mean. Your friend Doug's brother? Mike? My pal?
But you never got to know that.

After Dad died and we spent that next couple of months dodging the State until I turned 18 (at which point there was finally a legal adult in the house again), you and your girlfriend Jackie spent a lot of time in your bedroom with your door closed. I didn't care what you were doing as long as she didn't get pregnant; I hope you both had a good time.

Really, I do.
After I graduated and you had to move out here, with Mom, you got even angrier. I couldn't deal with you. I couldn't stand the way you treated her. The wrestling-to-the-floor techniques you'd practiced and perfected on me, you now used on her to get what you wanted.
I loved you, Bro, but I didn't like you much.

And yet, a week or so after you died, Mom and I were both shocked when she got your report card in the mail. Straight A's. Straight Fucking A's. You? Really?
You?
Who were you becoming?
Your friends at the new school out here--and good heavens, there were a lot of them, we found out as the awkward sympathy cards rolled in--said you were fun, funny, and happy.
You?
We didn't see that at home--that was another behavior you picked up from dad. The Two Faces thing. One for home, one for public consumption. But still...
Who were you becoming?

So. You got straight A's your Junior year in High School. You'd never cared about grades, ever.
You were becoming somebody different. Mom and I--we just didn't know. Because you didn't tell us.
You left without saying "Goodbye" at the airport.

You bastard.

After we told you to wait while we parked the car. You just went inside and got swallowed up in the crowd.
You didn't bother to call that night when you arrived safely back home to visit with your friends, either. Just went out the next night, heading for the "Welcome Back, David" party in the woods by the river. The party you never made it to.
You were four months away from 18.

Today is your fortieth birthday. 
We don't talk about it much.
Mom and Grandma and I made Christmas cookies all day yesterday. We all knew what today is.
We just didn't talk about it.  
"Do you remember when you were little and we used to make Christmas cookies?" Mom asked. Of course I do. The three of us.
You always looked ridiculous in an apron.

Who were you becoming?
Who would you be today?
Would you still be a guy who'd call my friends "Fags" and "Assholes" and "Fuckheads" and "Losers," or would you have outgrown that? 
What would you be doing for a living? Engine repair? Construction?
Would you have shocked me and gone to college and decided to do something with that straight-A brain you didn't show us for the first sixteen years of your life?
Would you have married, had children?
Would you have stayed in touch with Mom and me at all, or would you have slipped away as soon as you could manage, out on your own, turning our relationship into a Christmas-Cards-If-You're-Lucky kind of thing?

I wonder about this from time to time.
Because you were on the cusp. Balancing. Dark/Light. Ready to tip, one way or the other.
I like to think you'd have tipped into the light, but we'll never know.
You left a lot of unfinished business behind, Bro.
Happy fortieth, wherever you are.

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Comments

Aw man. Takes my breath away. All the times I could have died between 15 and, say, 25 ... and while I didn't have a legacy of meanness quite akin to your Bro's, had I not somehow survived and been allowed to grow into the man I am today, I can think of a number of people who might have ruminations about me to echo yours here.

Reminds of a few phone calls I should probably make.
It's OK, Cat. It's been 22 years. That's a big cushion. Except for big landmark dates when the "What Ifs" come out to play, and turning 40 is one of those landmarks. Thanks for dropping by.

Tom, I totally connect with your lovely wife. :-) It's not so much celebration as...acknowledgment, I suppose, is the word.
VR -- As an only child I can't relate to the emotions, but I can relate to the post. This shows you loved him.
This is such a heavy piece and will hit home and hard with so many people fortunate enough to come across it.

I have no doubt that your brother, given an opportunity, would have not only gotten closer to you but have made your heart swell with pride.

Wonderful post.
Such a tender, searing tribute. The what ifs will always be there, but you seem to be handling them well.
Incredibly poignant, difficult to read, but well done. Anniversaries like this are challenging to mark. My condolences on your loss, and mourning what might have been.
i have a brother who had two accidents and came close but didn't die. but he did tip the dark way. it's not the same as what you describe, but, then again, it is. i'm so sorry it's a really sad day for you and your mom and grandmother, d.
(I just saw T&D describe herself as a "ball of rude" for posting and running, but alas, that's what I've gotta do for the rest of the day. Will be back late at night and PREEMPTIVE thanks to everybody who drops in.)
Heart wrenching. Who would he have been? Too close to home for me to think about too long.
Wow. I remember the line near the end of the film "A River Runs Through It", when the girl asks Norman why is it that the people we love most are the ones who are least likely to accept our efforts to help them. Or to relate it to this post, why is it those we love are so difficult to know?
Good writing, great writing. Seering and seeing.

I am sorry for your loss.

I feel grateful to have gained your you.
The staggered, sharp delivery makes this story all the more powerful. I am at a loss for words. Rated.
Oh, that tipping point. I know it well. Dark/light, visible/invisible. Yes. We hope for the dead that they would have turned to the light. We hope that for the living too. Every day. This was worthy and valuable writing. Thank you. R.
I lost my sister almost four years ago, and you have articulated so much of what goes through one's head as we consider that life halted so suddenly. My sister and didn't like one another either, but somehow the universe handed both of us the intention to heal our relationship the year before she became ill. We weren't there, but we were enough on our way, that I am forever thankful that we were finding peace and appreciation for one another. One of the last things she said to me was, "Thank you for deciding to love me." Her birthday is Nov. 13, so it's that time of year for me as well.

My heartfelt thanks to you for writing this post. Such courage.

Sincerely - Susan
VR, what a compelling story and the loss along with questions of 'what might have been' are huge. Thank you for posting this personal and thought provoking story.
Grand and sad. We keep those in our hearts who we love and miss and mourn. It takes great strenth to keep these memories current. You have demonstrated a fine strength here.
Rated.
Except for the really vicious bit you described my brother. He grew up, was forced to graduate high school by my father, and went out into the world. He discovered that life wasn't as easy when he had to do it on his own. He married a religious woman and became a loving father and husband. The person he was isn't the person he became.
Think better of your brother, he may have turned out just like mine.
My condolences. So many unanswered questions. Beautifully written with an honesty reflecting the complex emotions.
Thanks for sharing this part of you with us.
A person has to grow up. If we weren't so unaware of how we affected the world around us to the point of needing to be taught we wouldn't need parenting. So many times when we are young we are captured by what others expect of us that we lose who we are. The changes come when we stop wanting to be what others see us as and begin to be who we are. Strength is a valuable thing, once we learn what it really is. What do I think? I think he was on the verge of becoming himself. It's a shame he never got the chance to be that person.
A solitary, silent tear...
I love you.
This is so tragic, and you relate it in a spare, moving way. You are right in the tags...no sports cars and, honestly, don't sign for them to get a license or let them keep one--while minors-- if they aren't ready to drive. It is a wonder so many more of us aren't dead. I got a license at 15. I learned to drive some time in my twenties.
oh god...painful and beautiful...
Lovely eulogy from past and present. I'm sorry.
This is beautiful, powerful, honest writing. "Because you were on the cusp. Balancing. Dark/Light. Ready to tip, one way or the other." Rated.
The "what ifs" are often the most painful part of death. And they come out viciously on birthdays and holidays.
This was beautifully written and moved me so much.
This just grabbed me mind and heart and gave a good twist and yank! So sad and harrowing.
The writing? Off the charts and into orbit. It's that good.

The thought? You got a lot of brothers here who adore you. I'm one of them.
Extremely touching, Verbal. There's nothing more tragic than the death of someone so young.
Sorry for the painful memories, Verbal.
Great job working through them and writing this memorial piece.
xoxoxo,
Damn . . . I see this in the Giant . . . a very good heart, but also capable of an extremely intimidating presence . . . may have a straight A brain, but isn't sure he wants to really put it out there. Perhaps less darkness, but still . . . damn, VR. And you write this so "to the heart of it."
This touched me deeply. My own brother and I had a similar relationship and he was killed in a car wreck when he was 18.
I, too, wonder...
Beautifully written. Thank you.
This is a fantastic piece. I don't know what to say other than that. You dug a little deeper to write EXACTLY how you felt. This is detailed, smart and poignant. Love it.
This was so beautifully written and expressed. I can relate (unfortunately) my sister having died at 18. She would be 60 this year....how does this happen...but they do not age in death...the memory so youthful but always the thought "what would have been".
My heart goes out to you. What a tragic loss. The loss of a loving, brother/sister relationship on top of it all. Abuse is scary in all it's ugly forms. Your writing is a masterpiece of unspoken feelings. You recognize the pain he was in and you love him still. I honor you for that.
Unanswered questions, even if only asked occasionally, can be devastating. I'm terribly, sincerely sorry for your loss, and his.
I'm teary eyed here. And that's a good thing.

Wishing you peace. Anniversaries like these are tough.
I didn't have a Brady Bunch brother either, but like you, I loved him even if he did pick on me unmercifully, tease me and punch me...I miss him and wonder too, who would he be today - in reading your memoir, I felt lucky that I had more years to know my brother and see him become a young man - he died at 31...this is beautifully written and yes, I kept saying to myself, I know and I knew where you were going...my brother would be 54 now. I hope this poignant writing helped you as much as it touched me.
Thanks a tundle, everybody. (That's a cross between a ton and a bundle.) I'm more pensive/reflective than sad today, but I so appreciate all your cyberhugs and I'm returning the good wishes to everybody. We've pretty much ALL lost somebody we loved way too early, I figure--through death or through geography or through addiction or indifference or a dozen other things that can permanently end relationships.

Love you all!
Wow . Just wow. Time marches on for all of us and we hold the memories of those who pass before us in a picture of timelessness where everything stands still. Hugs and cheers to you, your memories and your family.
I am sorry.
Tough day for you.
Really really good... eloquent and haunting, which is fitting for the subject and wondering "What might have been?"
Wow, Verbal! That was a great posting. Thanks for sharing your dysfunctional family with us. rated
"Dark/light. Ready to tip." Like others, this line resonates with me - just a perfect picture of a 17 year old boy, and one I know intimately myself. Intense, painful, and beautifully written. I am sorry for the pain you went through, and sorry also for the what if.
Dammit, I don't like it when you rip My heart out and leave me with nothing to say but the inadequate, I'm so sorry. What a waste, a life lived in anger and pain and confusion cut short before true promise could be realized. And wrongs righted. I'm so sorry. Really.
Denise,
These kinds of tributes are not drawn out easily. The emotional wrestling that goes into a post like this is something only the writer fully understands. I hope you’ll find great comfort in the obvious truth that your heart, these many years later, still has the loving longing to express the unexpressed and to say the words that were unspoken to your brother.

Your courage and tenderness in wanting to put your feelings out into the ether for him to be able to embrace are precious and deeply admirable.

Rated and appreciated.
I have two brothers, one alive and one dead. The one who lived used to beat me up too...then one day in our mid twenties he "apologized" and we cried together for the lost time spent fighting. Our baby brother was alive then, the one I would have protected with my life, but couldn't.

Your post celebrating your brother's birthday is bittersweet, but so heartfelt it tugs at mine. I have no doubt he would have changed, he already was. (((HUGS)))
Heartwrenching description of the early loss of a sibling. I wonder at the inner strength it takes to continue creating one's life after such a blow. I expect the smorgasbord of life provides enough for filling up the hole with pretty ribbons and stuff, though it's the quality of one's personal relationships which really carry one in life. My wayward brother met a girl worth straightening up for, then lost her when she was pregnant with their second child (she slipped in the bath, hit her head, and drowned). He got through it, found another girl and they're still together, with all their grandchildren and children around them. Thanks and blessings to you from Zing
This is an amazing piece Verbal. I love the line: "Because you were on the cusp. Balancing." Complex and true.
I would echo just what Beth Mann said, because she said it so well.

Really powerful and so honestly written.
A genuine tribute, not a sentimental wallow. Bless. Rated.
I just love all of you. Really, I do. Giant, giant hugs--and like Lonnie said, let's all go out and make those phonecalls we should make. Because life can sometimes be way too short.
Some of this reminds me of my younger brother. He tipped light, but it took a while....Sorry that you never got to know the end of your brother's story that could have been.

I agree - speed, kids and rural roads kill. We lost a very young co-worker last year when she flipped her Mustang on a country road. My kid's gonna have a poo-brown Taurus, just like I did. Not sexy, but safe. R.
Life is unpredictable. Sally said what my heart says, so I'll simply defer to her wise words.

If you ever need a slightly older, slightly used brother, let me know.

((((((((Denise))))))))))
Wonderful writing, touching yet tough, very deserving of EP, congrats Verbal on the award, and so very sorry about the subject matter, your brother and your loss. R
A beautiful tribute. I lost a brother twenty years ago this summer. He also was "on the cusp" and wound up dying in a fight, enraged.
I like to think that he would have come over to the light, but I'll never know.
Thanks for sharing this.
One of the greatest fears a parent has is a call in the middle of the night or a knock at the door from an officer for just that reason. Chilling. The loss of a loved one never leaves. Sure, some years will be harder than others, but it never leaves.
Very powerful!
Sorry for your loss! :(
I know pain lessens day by day but it never goes away completely.
Very sweet. Very sad... My older brother has been gone for 25 years now. I wish we could have grown old together..
Remembering is a hard but necessary part of living and going on.
You have written a look into it so very well.
I am crying right now. I feel so bad, almost ashamed that myself and my brother do not speak. Nothing really between us except horrible parents when they were together and I believe so much so that my brohter wants no reminders. I am so sorry for your loss. I am calling my brother tonight.
Oh sweetie. This is gorgeous and tragic. What a terrible waste it is when someone dies young and we never know what would have happened. I am so very sorry.
Such a hard post to read. My brother was such an asshole when he was 17. I can't imagine losing him then, knowing the decent, caring person he's become. I'm heartbroken for you and it doesn't surprise me that you still think of him. I hope writing about this helps.
That's some ghost to live with.
Jesus, this was painful. I haven't read the other comments, but I'm wondering if anyone has mentioned, ever so gently, that your parents should have done something about your abusive brother. Anyway, I admire your generosity in seeing the potential in him and share with you your loss.
Very raw and very real.
VR, such a special posting. I read every word and feel for you. I know what a death anniversary means and how it never is forgotten while a wedding anniversary or birthday can be.
Beautiful writing.
Thank you for sharing that. Theres' a synchronicity in what has been going on with me. I have been ruminating on my brothers. I have a brother that died on my birthday. That's a hard one to reconcile every year when it rolls around and every day in-between.

I bet your bro has tipped into the light. Your light shines in this piece.
Poignant and sad, VR. I feel for your loss all those years ago, and like you I cant help but wonder about those who didnt make it this far.
The first time I say the family name on a grave marker was for a 4 month old daughter my brother and his wife lost. To this day, when I visit my folks, brother, aunt and uncle at the cemetary, I stop by her little gravemarker and wonder who she would be today, almost 30 years later.
Beautiful piece of writing. Thank you.
So well done. Perfect, really.

I'm sorry, and wish I didn't have a closeness to an nearly identical story. He would have been 45 in June. Dead at 14. The family, never the same.

Thanks for this piece.
Heartbreaking. We are marking the one year anniversary of my brother's death today. I have dreaded it - not wanting it to become and anniversary. It still hurts like hell one year later. Unlike your brother, Tim was the gentle and generous one and we all got to see him become a man and a father. Still 52 was too young and too soon and too unexpected. I am sorry for your loss, especially the loss of what might have been. You do a good job here of paying tribute to his life.
What a wonderful piece. Such a true picture of a real relationship and how complicated grief can be.
Beautifully written. Having grown up in a similar situation I can tell you that things might have gotten much, much worse for you over the years, as they did in my situation--so bad in fact that my life (and our family) would have been immeasurably better off if he'd met a similar fate. But since you can never know that there's a hole that cannot be filled except with speculation. Better to fill it with positive thoughts. Thanks for sharing this.
Tough post to read. I loved the stark honesty in this. And how, even years later, all the little details that are remembered, and the questions left unanswered. Thank you for sharing.
VR, my brother didn't die, but he did suffer a traumatic brain injury just before we turned 40 years old, a story I've told in my posts. I do have the same wonderments as you about the brother i USED to have, though. I have a brother, and I love the brother I have, but he's not the brother I had, and never will be. That guy is gone, and I mourn him even while I love the one I have. Your story touches me as a sister and as a mother. The loss of anyone so young just breaks my heart. Now I wonder, too, who your brother was on his way to becoming. I wish you and yours the best.
Seemed like you were describing my big brother. When he reached the age of 44 some 20 years ago I shoved him off the cliff in my heart he had been standing on forever.
Your piece here was very well contructed and touching.
Be well.
What a difficult relationship, made even more difficult by his loss. How do you ever reconcile those feelings or answer those lingering questions? Your exploration of such a tough subject is masterful.
Again, late to the party.

I had three brothers, and now am an only child. They all beat the crap out of me as kids, but dying before they hit 50 doesn't seem like fair payback. (All three died in the past four years, two from heart attacks and one from AIDS.)

Sorry that you didn't get to make things right with your own brother. It seems like he might have figured some shit out.

Great writing, sweetheart, and as with all great writing, you've made a lot of us think about stuff.........rated, so rated!